


Spring Cleaning (Or: How to get out of the closet when your partner keeps pushing you in)

by SquaresAreNotCircles



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bisexual Danny "Danno" Williams, Closets, Coming Out, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Trapped In A Closet, a very brief reference to 9.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquaresAreNotCircles/pseuds/SquaresAreNotCircles
Summary: “What’s the deal with you and closets?” Steve asks.“There is no deal. I am not in a closet.”“But you are.”Danny cedes just the tiniest bit of conversational ground. “On a physical level, yes, I am finding myself in a closet. No thanks to you.”Or: If Danny doesn’t accidentally strangle himself with a stripper’s brassiere first, he might just drown in all the irony.





	Spring Cleaning (Or: How to get out of the closet when your partner keeps pushing you in)

**Author's Note:**

> As any of my friends could probably tell you (because I haven’t been able to shut up about it), I’ve been watching a lot of due South recently. One of the many fascinating things about this show, which is in part a comedy series and delights me in innumerable ways, is that is has a bit of a thing for closets. Its main character and closets, in particular. He hides in them, he uses them to have long conversations with his dead father and he retreats into them, slamming the door shut in his own face, when asked if the rumors that he slept with a recurring female character are true (which isn’t a metaphor for anything at all, I’m sure! that’s just what all straight men do when confronted with this situation!).
> 
> One episode in particular that really went in hard on the closet jokes led to this bit of conversation, between our main man, Fraser, and his superior officer/possible love interest:
> 
> _Thatcher: “Would you care to tell me where you’ve been?”_   
>  _Fraser: “Well, I, I have been in a closet, ma’am.”_   
>  _Thatcher: “Any particular closet?”_   
>  _Fraser: “An exotic dancer’s closet.”_   
>  _Thatcher: “Well, that’s your business, of course.”_   
>  _Fraser: “Oh well, I don’t think you understand, ma’am. I was in the closet with Detective Vecchio.”_
> 
> So, naturally, I had to put Steve and Danny in an exotic dancer’s closet. Naturally.

Danny has been on edge, and rightfully so, he thinks, ever since he realized this lead Steve wanted them to check out meant Steve was driving them to a strip club. It’s not that he’s truly morally opposed to the idea of pretty women in skimpy clothes – he’s a guy who definitely swings that way, among others, and he’s been to more than enough bachelor parties and even had one of those himself, much good that it did his marriage in the long run – but as he’s grown older, he has started to realize that there’s something sleazy about it. Or hypocritical, at least. It’s not right, all these women shaking their asses just so men with creepy smiles can get their kicks.

Or something.

Okay, so the truth of it is that he has a teenage daughter now. Ever since that hit him, he can never really squash the fear that he’s going to find Grace in one of these places and discover just how terribly he has failed her as a father.

When he tells Steve this, raising his voice to be heard over the music that blasts into their faces as they step inside the club, Steve just laughs. It’s a surefire way to get Danny’s heckles up instantly, which Steve should have been able to take into account, after all those years of living inside each other’s pockets. “What,” Danny demands, jabbing two angry fingers at Steve’s shoulder, “my hypothetical pain and suffering, not to mention the ruination of my kid’s life, are _amusing_ to you?”

“No, it’s just-” Steve slides a sideways look at him like he wants to roll his eyes, but reigns himself in at the last second. “Come on, Danny, the idea that you’re not easily the best father in the whole state? That’s laughable.”

And just as quickly as the anger rose, it sinks down to acceptable levels. Danny is mollified and kind of pleased, actually, a little, because as easy as it is for Steve to rub him the wrong way, he also always manages to find just the right words to smooth things over. The funny thing is that Steve usually doesn’t seem to realize the effect he has. He’s just Steve being Steve, saying the first thing that comes into his mind without a clue what that does to Danny.

So there Danny is, in a strip club, feeling kind of warm from the innocent compliment his very male, very much in his forties platonic best buddy just gave him, instead of paying any kind of attention to the impressive cleavage that the sparkly silver bikini gives the girl up on the podium. Oh well. It’s the kind of stupid he’s gotten used to.

Of course, next thing you know, Steve is leaning over into his space to tell him he’s going to check out the back, and all that affection leaves Danny in a whoosh. He needs two hops to catch up to Steve’s long strides, but then he’s close enough again that he can argue without having to yell over the pounding bass of the music and letting everyone nearby hear what he’s saying. “You can’t just go back there. We don’t have a warrant, Steve.” He knows even before making the point that it’s futile, but he wants to put his objections on the record.

Steve, true to form, keeps walking. “How do you know they’re not going to give me permission voluntarily?”

“Because you’re not going to _ask_ them for it.”

They’ve reached a corner close to the bar, with a door that reads _Authorized Personnel Only_. Steve stops and kind of turns, looking for all the world like this just so happens to be the random spot he chose to hang out, even though Danny knows his eyes are scanning the room to check for people watching them. Then he grins straight at Danny. “You coming?” he asks, as he pushes backwards through the door.

The answer is yes, of course. Danny can grumble about Steve all day long, but he can’t risk letting the guy get shot by a stripper because there was no one there to have his back.

The door brings them to a narrow, depressingly drab hallway, with more doors lining the walls and a fire escape at the end. If the music weren’t still pounding right behind them, Danny would fully buy that they’d stepped through a portal and gained access to a rundown office building. “What are we even looking for?” he asks, as he follows Steve through one of the new doors into what’s clearly a changing room for some of the female employees.

Steve wastes no time in starting to rifle through the drawers of the vanity. “Remember when the suspect’s sister told us his girlfriend is a dancer here? Maybe he hid some of the stolen money with her.”

“That would be monumentally stupid,” Danny says, but it’s more of an agreement than it is an actual objection to the plausibility of Steve’s theory. Stupid is the middle name of a shocking number of the criminal masterminds they tangle with.

He takes the two steps needed to get to the other side of the room and opens the built-in closet with the idea that as long as he’s standing there anyway, he might as well make himself useful. Considering the room itself is shoebox-sized at best, the closet is disproportionately big. It’s not exactly a walk-in, but it would definitely be large enough to let a grown human step inside, especially because there are no shelves, only heels littering the floor and a rail that’s about two-thirds filled with hangers housing all kinds of colorful and sparkly and feathery stuff.

Later, he’ll wonder if maybe he jinxed himself with those thoughts. 

In the moment, he’s too busy freezing up at the unmistakable click of heels out in the hallway. He exchanges an instinctive look with Steve, who puts a finger to his own lips. Danny would have gestured something back to convey his pique at this overly obvious warning, but then the door to the room rattles a little, like maybe someone gave it a shove or is leaning against it from the other side. There’s high-pitched laughter followed by two distinct voices. One sounds male and one female, but it’s impossible to make out what they’re saying, what with the barrier of the door and the background sound of the performance music muddling everything.

Steve is right in front of Danny, suddenly, bending his head so he doesn’t need more than a whisper to be heard. “Get in the closet.”

Danny lets his eyebrows fly up and looks from Steve to the colorful contents of the closet and back to Steve, who doesn’t show even a single sign of not being completely genuine about this. “I am not getting in the closet,” Danny says, in the same low but serious voice, albeit admittedly also a little freaked.

“Yes, you are.” Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, like he plans to give Danny a good shove if he doesn’t cooperate. 

Danny changes his stance to brace for that possibility and glares at Steve. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Apparently, Steve really wouldn’t. He glares back and removes his hand, but then he does something almost as distressing as hilarious, and determinedly steps in the closet himself. He pushes the hangers tightly towards the wall so they occupy less space. Once firmly inside, he turns back to Danny and stands there like he’s made some kind of point. “Danny, get in the closet.”

Which means Danny has to pinch himself, because when the hell did he fall asleep in the middle of all this? How did he end up in a nightmare with a terrible sense of humor?

“Steve,” he mimics angrily, “get _out_ of the closet.”

“I can’t,” Steve says, which is metaphorically tragic and literally annoying.

The doorknob to the room turns a fraction, which Danny interprets to mean that someone has put their hand on it from the other side, but is held up by one more thing out there. The voices are still going, but their pitch gives the impression that they might be working on a somewhat giddy goodbye. Danny takes a last second to mouth a string of heartfelt, silent curses, and jumps in the closet.

With Steve. Steve, who looks very pleased in the last moment Danny has to both admire and loathe Steve’s pretty face before Steve draws the closet door shut and they’re surrounded by darkness. It’s just in time, because immediately thereafter there’s the snick of a door and those clicking heels enter the room. It doesn’t sound like there’s another pair of footsteps, but the situation is dire enough as it is.

Danny knows Steve is facing him, so he leans forward and keeps his voice very low. “Now what do we do if she opens that door, genius?”

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs back. Danny can feel Steve’s hot breath near his temple. He wonders, briefly, why fate is tempting him like this. “Say I’m helping you pick an outfit.”

“Very funny.”

“I don’t think she’ll need to go in here. There were clothes laid out on the chair, remember?”

Danny doesn’t, but he sees no reason for Steve to lie. “You had better be right, or I swear to Grace and Charlie-” He doesn’t know exactly _what_ he’d swear to Grace and Charlie, so he lets the threat hang in the air. Sometimes the less said, the better.

Steve shifts a little, which Danny knows because one of Steve’s knees bumps in between his and he imagines he can feel Steve’s body heat even better than before. “What’s the deal with you and closets?” Steve asks.

“Nothing,” he hisses back, holding on to his fury so he doesn’t succumb to the urge to bang his head against the wall or bang his head against Steve or just bang Steve, period. Even if Steve were willing, that would set a very bad example of what turns him on. “There is no deal. I am not in a closet.”

“But you are,” Steve insists. He sounds stubborn, but he’s not often stubborn for the hell of it, like Danny is almost always. He’s truly trying to figure this out. 

Danny cedes just the tiniest bit of conversational ground. “On a physical level, yes, I am finding myself in a closet. No thanks to you.”

“Oh, jeez.” There’s some fluttering that he feels by the displacement of air and then all of a sudden there’s a careful hand on his side, resting on his waist, and another one rubbing hypnotically up and down his bicep. “Is it the claustrophobia?” Steve asks, like he knows the answer but for once doesn’t want to overstep by assuming. “I’m really sorry, Danny. I wasn’t thinking.”

Not thinking is something Danny can relate to, with Steve’s hands unexpectedly all over him. He snorts and lets his head tip forward until his face is buried in the material of Steve’s shirt, because hey, when in Rome, and so forth. Steve is soft but firm, and warm, and after a full day of driving around the island he smells mostly like sweat and the cloud of cigarette smoke they passed through at the entrance of the club, but Danny can’t deny to himself that he’s drawn to all of it as long as it’s Steve. “Yeah,” he mutters wryly against Steve’s chest, “closetrophobia, maybe.”

“What was that?” Steve whispers back, still with that kind, worried voice. It should sound fake, but it doesn’t.

Danny turns his face just enough that Steve will be able to hear him, this time. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

Steve’s hand on his arm stills. “No?”

“No.” He’s speaking the truth. This closet may be a small space, but it’s not like an elevator that gets stuck or a cave that you enter deeper and deeper, where the exit gets cut off or leaves your immediate line of sight. Besides, he’s pretty literally in Steve’s arms. That’s a good way to distract him from anything around him, even how much or little space there is and whatever fits his brain wants him to throw about that.

He can feel Steve move his head, like he’s nodding. “I’m glad.” His tone changes between one sentence and the next. “So you don’t need me to hold your hand, then?” 

Danny completely lifts his head from Steve’s chest to send him a mild glare, even if it gets lost in the darkness. Apparently Steve feels that the need for sympathy is far enough behind them that it’s time to go back to teasing. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“Yes. You like to remind me every now and then.”

“I’m performing a public service,” Danny advises him. “And no, I don’t need you to hold my hand, because that would send very mixed messages about our relationship, seeing as I’m not in a closet.”

Steve is quiet for a second. When he speaks up, he sounds confused. “I mean, if it helps you to deny reality-”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Danny’s interruption comes in the form of a somewhat harsh whisper. It edges towards dangerously loud for their predicament, which Steve warns him about by tightening the grip on his waist, which just adds to the building layers of irony here. Danny checks his volume when he continues, but not his temper. “I’m not denying reality. Reality and me, Steve? Trust me, we’re cool. We’re really cool, in fact, because we can feel the salty breeze that rolls across the open sea and it messes up our hair, because we’re not locked in a closet because I’ve kicked that door open years ago and I’ve discovered it swung both ways because I’m bi, okay?”

Danny finds himself panting a little after this tirade.

“So there you go,” he adds, when Steve doesn’t immediately offer up a response. “I don’t like literal closets because I was in a metaphorical one for far too much of my life.” 

“Oh,” Steve says softly, like he’s getting it, and for the first time, for some intangible reason, Danny thinks he actually might. “Hey, want to hear something funny, while we’re stuck in this closet?”

Danny is kind of tired and done with the day. He’s very done with the stupid not-straight puns that keep mocking him. “Sure. I’d love to hear something funny. Shoot.”

“So was I.”

“So were you what?” he asks, before he’s had a second to think about it. 

Steve lets him have that second.

“ _Oh_ ,” he almost gasps, when the three-dollar penny drops. His version of ‘oh’ must sound like he gets it now, too, because Steve’s hand creeps up from where it was still curled around Danny’s bicep until it reaches the curve of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. Steve is either feeling for his pulse or going straight for the closest bit of bare skin he can reach.

“Danny,” he breathes. They’ve been whispering the entire time, but not like this. There’s an urgency underlaying his voice now. “Danny, is there maybe something else you want to tell me?”

Danny has to try very hard to get words past the tiny circles Steve’s thumb is drawing on the side of his neck. Not because Steve’s touch is constricting in any way, but because it’s so light and hesitant that hope gets stuck in Danny’s throat. “Tell you? Like what?”

“Like- Like if I’m out, you’re out, right?”

That’s an unexpected way to twist Danny’s own words around, but he’s willing to roll with it. “Yes.”

“So does that mean we can be together in this, too? We, you know, we’re-”

“Partners?” Danny supplies.

“That’s a very confusing word,” Steve points out.

And what kind of partner would Danny be if he let Steve be confused? He brings his hands up blindly to cup Steve’s face, draws him down, and kisses him, leaving very little doubt about which interpretation of partnership has his preference. Steve, who can be very perceptive when he wants to be, picks up on this subtle hint. He lets out a low sound that Danny feels more than hears and presses even closer.

They get about a full minute of making out – first soft and sweet, then gradually more intense, because this may be new, but in many ways it’s so old and comfortable that it’s probably right that they skip a few steps – before they start to forget themselves. Maybe Steve moans a little too enthusiastically, or maybe Danny bangs his elbow into the wall too hard. Either way, there’s a knock at the door.

Danny pulls back from Steve’s lips. He tries to look at him, but it’s still exactly as dark as it was before, so their usually so reliable silent visual communication isn’t going to do them much good. Steve seems to realize this too, because he squeezes Danny’s waist again, but somehow in a way that feels markedly different from last time. It’s not a warning, but a _yeah, go ahead_. 

Danny licks his lips and ignores that they’re still tingling. “Yes?” he asks, raising his voice enough that whoever is outside the closet must be able to hear him.

The door opens, which forces him to blink against the light until his eyes adjust. 

A pretty blond woman wearing a pink cowboy hat, fake eyelashes and a fluttery bathrobe frowns at them. “I thought I heard something. Do I need to call security?”

There’s a real level of visibility now, so Danny looks at Steve. Steve is already looking at him. “Uh,” Steve says, and turns to the woman. “No. It’s alright, Miss. We’re Five-0.” He makes some kind of movement and if Danny had to hazard a guess it would be that Steve just tapped the badge on his belt, but Danny is not a brave enough man to let his eyes stray even remotely in that direction just now. 

The woman gives them a very critical head to toe inspection, but seems to believe their story, or at least accept it. There’s not much of a change in her exasperated expression. “Okay. So what business does the Governor’s taskforce have in my closet?”

“We were just-” Steve doesn’t really seem to know how to finish that, which is understandable, because they did a lot of significant things in the past ten or so minutes and most of them don’t make for a very good explanation of what’s happening currently. “Coming out of it?” he tries.

“Following up on a lead,” Danny says, jumping in with hopes of saving at least some of Five-0’s dignity.

“Right,” the woman says flatly. “Standard procedure, I’m sure.” She takes a step back and makes a gesture inviting them to step away from her clothes. Danny takes extra care not to accidentally kick the heels on the closet floor as he exits. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, when she closes the door behind them. Danny eyes him incredulously, wondering what the hell he’s thanking her for, but Steve shrugs at him. Which for once is fair enough, maybe – a little over the top politeness couldn’t hurt.

“You’re welcome.” The woman walks over to the other side of the room, which makes no sound now because she’s barefoot. She opens the door leading to the hallway and gestures again, providing them with the perfect escape option. “Next time, you might want to try a club that caters to your demographic so you don’t have to sneak off. Or you could just rent a hotel room with a nice closet, if that’s what does it for you.”

Danny very nearly stumbles when he passes her, but he thinks he manages to cover it up. “Oh god, no. Trust me, it does not.”

“It does not,” Steve confirms, nodding and for some reason with a hand on Danny’s back now that they’re both out in the hallway, like Danny needs guidance because he can’t be trusted to walk in a straight line on his own.

Or, quite possibly, like Steve can’t keep his hands to himself. Danny is in the rare kind of mood where he’s willing to give the benefit of the doubt.

The woman ignores their earnest if probably misguided attempts to set her straight on this point. “Can I trust you guys to find the exit on your own, without any detours to backstage areas where you shouldn’t be?”

“Yes,” Danny assures her. He’s just about to hightail it out of there, trusting that Steve is whipped enough that he’ll stay within arm’s reach of his own volition, when he changes his mind and turns back to the very obvious stripper. “Actually, one last thing. How’s your relationship with your dad?”

Steve uses the hand already on Danny’s back to pinch him, but Danny grew up with three siblings, so he knows how to remain completely stoic while under this kind of assault.

The woman sighs at him. “It’s great.”

“Yeah? He didn’t, you know, ruin your life or anything, at all?”

She has the look of a person who has been asked that question before and has known it was stupid the entire time, but will humor him anyway if it gets him to leave her alone. “No. My dad is a great guy. He works three jobs, so I’m stripping to put myself through med school without putting financial stress on the family. Also, I’d like you to consider this: it’s none of your business.”

“Ah.” He doesn’t have a better response than that. “Cool.”

She smiles at him. “Yes, I am. Bye now.”

The door gets shut in their faces. On the list of all the doors that Danny really wants to keep open, this one doesn’t even qualify, so he’s fine with it. 

“Let’s go,” he tells Steve.

“That’s a very original idea.” Despite Steve’s wise remark, he does start steering Danny further down the hall.

It’s away from the music and in the opposite direction of where they came from. Danny doesn’t put on the brakes, because if there’s anything today has shown it’s that he’ll follow Steve even if Steve’s ideas are moronic, but he does feel the need to speak up. “This is the wrong direction.”

Steve points at the fire exit in lieu of an explanation. “You know, we need to work on this whole coming out thing. I feel like we’re not really on the same page yet for how to go about it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Danny shakes off Steve’s hand on his back, partly in retaliation, partly because they’re not going to fit through the exit at the same time anyway. “How about we work on that outside?”

Steve, undeterred, does a very familiar stop and turn, but this time there’s no crowd to scan before he grins at Danny. “Brilliant. I knew there was a reason I love you.” He pushes backwards through the door and is gone, and Danny stands there for another second, rooted to the spot by a mix of happiness and fury that he knows is going to be the rest of his life.

Then he chases after Steve, into the sunlight of the world outdoors, to tell him he can’t just say shit like that.

And to maybe say it back, but that’s neither here nor there.

**Author's Note:**

> Closet becomes a very strange word after you've written it a ridiculous number of times. Thank you for reading all those closets! You're awesome, and if you feel like leaving a comment, that would be awesome too. ❤
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as [itwoodbeprefect](https://itwoodbeprefect.tumblr.com), or with my exclusively H50 (and mostly McDanno) sideblog as [five-wow](https://five-wow.tumblr.com).


End file.
